We Are Not Cursed #11

Dubem straightened up with a machete in his hand. He ran his eyes over the remaining weedy portion of land that was his to clear and with the back of his other hand, wiped away the sweat that had misted over his forehead. It usually took a brief moment for his arm muscles to regain the much needed vigour for work, but now, before that dynamism kicked in, a woman’s image flashed through his mind. A warm inviting smile. Arms held open to him. A body scantily clad in a wrapper.